LIL THE NEEL

There were many mirrors in "The Guardians of Time": antique, in tarnished frames, with amalgams covered in a web of cracks. I'm used to things that hold emotions. An old chair remembers the warmth of a cat, a rattle—the sound of a child's laughter a century ago.

Today's visitor was special. Tall, with tired eyes and a silver cross in his ear, he stood out from the rest with his deep pain.

“A mirror, oval, with cupids, it belonged to my wife,” he said.

The reflection seemed to spill out a wave of grief that burned more intensely than its beauty. My sympathy manifested itself of its own accord.

Only a day had passed, and he appeared again, this time at the gramophone, which still held the sound of his beloved woman's voice. The thing radiated a poignant tenderness, and I found myself anticipating his every visit.

One day, while watching him examine a bronze candlestick, I decided to ask a question:

— Why do the things you choose carry such ancient and powerful happiness?

His reaction surprised me: for the first time I felt hesitation in his gaze.

“Feelings move outside of time,” he noted evasively.

But something else caught my attention. In the reflections of the old mirrors surrounding the store, I spotted his images from different eras, next to the same woman. These images overlapped, creating the feeling of an endless cycle of repeated encounters and partings.

I felt both horror and tenderness. What I saw seemed incredible, because my ability to see the past had never failed me before.

Returning to reality, I realized this man was experiencing something more than simple grief. He was part of an ancient love story, constantly in motion through the centuries.

The doorbell rang again. Neil appeared before me again, looking nervous and hesitant.

“I think I’ve finally found what I lost,” he said, looking into my eyes.